


The True Meaning of Words

by meshkol (ashernorton)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (not because of main characters), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Emotional Hurt, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentions of Attempted Suicide, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23710813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashernorton/pseuds/meshkol
Summary: Tony’s world breaks into pieces the moment he learns the identity of the Winter Soldier, but proverbial hammer hits in Siberia, and no man could’ve predicted it, not even Tony.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 34
Kudos: 713
Collections: AvengersS2, Great stories, WinterIronShield*





	The True Meaning of Words

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally no idea where this came from, as this is not a pairing I'm...into? But it demanded to be written despite the fifteen billion other projects I have due and my crazy-demanding work schedule right now, so here we are. In any case, I think I've caught all the applicable tags, but if there's something you believe I should add, please let me know. This fic is a tad bit heavy.
> 
> Unbeta'd as per usual, and please enjoy.

Tony’s world breaks into pieces the moment he learns the identity of the Winter Soldier.

It’s not a fast, quick fall like he’d always imagined it would be. He remembers being terrified of being destroyed by a single sentence, spoken to Tony _or_ Steve by a stranger, and it had always been a toxic thought in the back of his head, that one day it would all be over by something as mundane as a few words strung together by tongue and teeth and vocal folds. He’s always known that it was a possibility that it would happen, though neither one of them had stopped saying their own words to strangers for a wide variety of reasons regardless, and the edge of fear had been a constant companion during his relationship with Steve – and before him, Pepper – that he’d never been able to shake. It’d been worse with Steve though, because while he’d loved Pepper with every iota of his being, Steve had been his soulmate in all but the words tattooed on their bodies since birth, Steve slipping into every crack and fissure within Tony’s soul until he’d been unable to tell which parts were his and which were Steve’s.

The alternative, Tony finds out much later, is so much worse. Instead of a quick break, it’s long, protracted, and unimaginably painful, a slow chip at every cell in Tony’s body until the bare skeleton is finally hit with the proverbial hammer, the last straw on his back that makes him fall apart until he’s nothing but a wraith, and yet the pain _still_ continues.

All things start and end with Bucky Barnes, he supposes, _‘til the end of the line_ for them all.

* * *

Pepper and Tony had broken up in autumn of 2012, right after the Battle of New York.

They’d tried their damndest to keep it going but it just...hadn’t worked. Tony’s too damn fucked up, too damn incapable of putting Iron Man in a glass display case and just letting it go, and Pepper understandably hadn’t been able to handle it. He doesn’t really blame her for the decision but it nearly kills him just the same, especially when they distance themselves from each other outside of SI business.

It’s not like they hadn’t seen it coming exactly – Pepper (_like Steve_) was a romantic, who’d grown up on soulmates and words and bonds and everlasting love but had loved Tony despite their words not matching, who’d hated that he was putting himself in danger no matter what the cause was but was willing to compromise so they both got what they needed. On the other hand, Tony’s a realist and pragmatic to a fault as a man of science, but filled to the absolute brim with a self-inferiority complex capable of powering the planet for a millennium, and he has a good helping of anxiety and trauma to go along with it.

He has a healthy fear of soulbonds despite his desperate need to always be _good enough_, to be _loved_, and he’s completely certain by the time he even _meets_ Pepper Potts that he’s never _going_ to be good enough or loved unless destiny intervenes with the mythical chemical cocktail he’s been hearing about since he was a toddler. Perhaps it’s a self-fulfilling prophesy that he isn’t loved or good enough, because he sabotages every relationship he’s ever had with his hot mess of an existence, but in his defence he does try at least.

Still, it hadn’t worked between them, and by the time Steve Rogers came barrelling into his life from stage left, Pepper and Tony were in the final death throes of their relationship, fighting and avoiding each other in equal measure until she finally had to give him an ultimatum because he wouldn’t compromise or stand down. He doesn’t blame her for it, especially after suits started powering up in his sleep and terrorists blew up his Malibu mansion and he was seemingly dead-dead-dead, and even though he knows it’d been the right thing to do when the Mandarin became a threat, it still kills him to know she’s gone for good.

Steve’s a different thing entirely.

They go from spitting at each other on the Triskelion to tentative friends by the time he gets back from his grand tour of America, and before the end of Steve’s first month in Avengers Tower, there’s a betting pool as to when they’ll fall into bed with each other. Steve finds it inappropriate and Tony is too raw from his break-up with Pepper (and too traumatised by Howard for not living up to Captain America) to even contemplate sleeping with Steve, so they don’t really address it. Besides, they know their words don’t match – Steve’s say ‘_The world is deep but the sky is long_’, a random phrase chosen by Steve’s soulmate to identify themselves because it’s poor form to greet someone for the first time with something as bland as _hello_ or _pleasure to meet you_, and Tony had only said a curt ‘_Captain_’ to him the first time they met, so they’re clearly aren’t soulmates – and Tony’s fairly certain that Steve’s the True Love With Your Soulmate kind of guy. He’s also banking on the popular theory that Steve’s soulmate is Bucky Barnes (rather than the other popular theory that it’d been Peggy Carter, because Peggy’s his godmother and she’s explicitly told him that Danny was hers), and that’s a bag of worms he’s not going to open even under threat of death.

There’s mutual attraction though, no doubt about that, even if they don’t so-much as contemplate the possibility of anything more than that. Steve’s fully aware that Tony’s licking his soft spots after Pepper, not even remotely game to jump into even no-strings-attached sex let alone a relationship, so he doesn’t make a move, and Tony’s thankful for it at first. He appreciates the time to grieve, the time to figure his shit out and find a way to bring her back into his life as one of his dearest friends instead of his not-soulmate girlfriend, and Steve’s patient and kind until Tony feels like he’s back on his feet.

But Tony’s never been known for his self-control, and Steve is surprisingly less conservatively romantic about the idea of soulmates than Tony would’ve ever expected.

It all comes to a head on a late night in March, both of them watching a film in the common area to stave off nightmares and curled against each other for comfort. Tony’s stable enough to not go throw himself into a bottle and he’s figured out how to be close to Pepper without the grief and pain overwhelming him, and because of this, they’ve been dancing around each other constantly, right at the edge of a cliff that will only inevitably lead to heartbreak in Tony’s expert opinion. Still, he knows that it is something that’s going to happen unless one of them clearly communicates otherwise, and Tony’s a connoisseur of information above all else, so he has to break the ice before they end up doing something stupid without all the information.

“Do you know who yours is?” he asks, his voice quiet and hesitant in a way it usually isn’t.

Steve takes a deep breath that expands his entire chest against Tony’s temple and replies softly, “No. Do you?”

Tony tries to collect his thoughts, eyes staring at the television screen but not seeing what’s playing, and thinks about his own words, branded on his left hipbone in inky black, that say ‘_I remember all of them._’ It’s an odd phrase to greet someone with, conversational even, which just isn’t done because conversational means it’s up to interpretation, something _anyone_ could say at a meeting or on the street and subsequently con someone into thinking that they’ve found their soulmate when they really _haven’t_. It leads to mistaken identities and broken hearts and dubious consent, if not outright sexual assault, and Tony....well. Tony knows that from experience too, in his younger years, and he’s been determined since Tiberius that that’s a mistake he won’t make again.

He finally answers quietly, “No.” He hesitates for a second, wondering if he should just leave it at that, but ultimately decides that Steve deserves the honesty if they’re really going to do this and continues, “There were a few when I was younger that were faked, tattoos and stencils and the sort, but I...eventually found out that it wasn’t real when nothing happened.” Ty had faked it the longest, and Tony’d just thought that when his standard greeting (‘_Focus on the math_’) had been displayed on Ty’s shoulder, the instant wholehearted dedication he’d felt was the activation of their soulbond once the words had been spoken. It hadn’t been, though – he’d just been run over by Sunset and his father and everyone else in his life, and it had left him _so_ open to Ty’s manipulation, led to—no, _no_, he won’t think of that, he can’t.

Steve shudders all over, clearly reading between Tony’s wording and hearing the truth that Tony can’t say in blunt terms, but he mercifully takes Tony’s glossed-over phrasing as the plea it is. Instead, he admits roughly, “I wanted it to be Buck, but it never was. I would’ve done _anything_ to have his words on me back then, just like I’d do anything to have yours _now_. We don’t need shared words, we don’t need a bond, just like I didn’t need any of those things with Bucky, and I don’t care if it somehow goes bad.”

Tony hears the raw truth in Steve’s voice, feels the rush of heady love that floods his bloodstream in response despite the fact that he _knows_ they’re going to get hurt, and says honestly, “It probably will, you know. We’ll both get hurt if you find yours or I find mine. Are you sure it’s worth it?”

Steve doesn’t even hesitate, telling him firmly, “I love you, Tony. I love you just as much as I loved him and I don’t need some damn soulbond to prove that.”

Tony closes his eyes to let that set in and then lifts himself up, the blanket almost falling off his shoulders as he straddles Steve’s thighs, their bodies hot against each other. He brushes his mouth against Steve’s once, twice, and then murmurs against soft lips, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re mine regardless of what this ink says, just like I’m yours.”

Steve surges upwards, and there isn’t much talking after that.

* * *

Tony’s world breaks into pieces the moment he learns the identity of the Winter Soldier, but it’s not quick.

Steve and Tony have been together since that late night in March before SHIELD falls in 2014, which means that they’ve been working and _happy_ for over a year before Bucky Barnes is found, as much as a brainwashed HYDRA assassin can be found when he’s seemingly intent on _not_ being so. It’s a punch to the gut when Steve tells him, pale and shaking and sobbing in his hospital bed, that the first man he’d ever loved is still out there and needs help.

Tony isn’t cruel though, and he loves Steve more than he ever loved Pepper because Steve _gets it_, so he puts every bit of his connections and resources into finding Barnes, holding the fort while someone on the team tracks down a lead in between searches for Loki’s sceptre. It’s hard, because Steve’s obviously torn between Barnes and Tony, and Tony gets it, he really does, because he’d be in the exact same boat if it was Pepper in Barnes’s situation and he can’t fault Steve for doing the same thing Tony would.

He doesn’t fantasise about mucking the search or getting in the way of the manhunt; hell, it doesn’t even enter into his mind even when Steve’s pulling away from him to search for his long-lost love and Tony spirals into the usual doubt and anxiety that comes with actually _finding_ Barnes. He knows that he’s not a second choice intellectually, that Steve truly does love him in ways that he never loved Barnes and vice versa, but it’s a different thing entirely to his mutilated heart and self-depreciating mind. One day, Steve’s going to find Barnes and he’ll have to make a choice, and Tony just doesn’t know what that choice will be when the time comes to make it.

Either way is feasible, he supposes – there’s a lot of history between Steve and Barnes, but Barnes clearly isn’t the same man that he was for a lot of reasons, and Steve knows that. On the other side of it, Tony doesn’t have that history that’s transcended seventy years of hardship and longing, but he does have the advantage of growing with Steve in the modern age, of their life-changing battles and overcoming their initial biases towards each other. It had been easy with Barnes but it hadn’t been easy with Tony, and there’s a lot to be said about hard work, especially in combination with Barnes being a totally different person than the familiar ghost haunting Steve’s every waking moment.

And while Tony doesn’t know how the Barnes from Steve’s past _nor_ the Barnes who’s been through hell would react to the idea of an open relationship, Tony is decidedly _not_ one for that sort of thing, regardless of what the tabloids might think. He simply has too many traumatic memories with Sunset and Tiberius to be able to handle Steve being in two relationships, shared between Tony and Barnes on some sort of fucking _schedule_, and to Steve’s credit he does get that. Tony’s past relationships, as horrifying as they’d been, are not something that they’ve avoided talking about, just like Steve’s relationship with Barnes pre-reveal had been an open conversation.

Steve and Tony’s relationship does suffer because of Steve being pulled in two different directions, but they manage despite it all falling around them. They make time for each other, go on Avengers’ missions to cement their working relationship, have sex like it’s going out of style, and openly assure each other that the love they have hasn’t changed despite Barnes being a factor, soothing rough edges and bandaging their emotional wounds in an effort to patch up the crumbling mortar in between them. Somehow it works, keeps them steady, if on shaky ground, and Steve’s always present when they’re together, never calling out Barnes’s name during sex or emotionally distancing himself as if preparing to leave. If anything, they communicate _more_, every fear and anxiety and doubt about the future, and it’s both healthy and affirming. That, more than anything, tells Tony that there’s a chance they could still make it, that Tony’s _now_ and Barnes is...not less, not in the slightest, but in the past nevertheless, a fond and passionate memory with a man long-dead.

Until Lagos, at least, because Steve makes his choice.

* * *

Tony’d been tracking the UN’s measures after Sokovia and had vehemently opposed them at first.

After Lagos though, no amount of lawyers or money or influence from Tony’s team is able to stop the inevitability of the Accords, and it all goes downhill from there. It’s simply a scramble at that point, to get the best possible leverage he can so strongmen like Ross can’t use it for material gain or power, and he probably would’ve been able to turn the tide in the Avengers’ favour – would’ve been able to ensure they wouldn’t be leashed and given Steve the peace of mind that they could still help the little guy despite signing the Accords – had the Winter Soldier not been identified as the UN bomber and caused Steve to _lose his_ _goddamn mind_. Honestly, Tony kind of hates Steve more for that than he does anything else, even the sudden and unimaginably painful abandonment that came with Steve’s (inevitable) choice, because as much as he loves Steve and as much as Tony understands _why_ he came second against Barnes, taking care of his _family as a whole_ was more important than emotions.

When they capture Steve, Barnes, and the newly-crowned King T’Challa in Bulgaria, he tries his damndest to keep himself from falling to pieces as he ensures that Barnes has a lawyer and is treated humanely, as he tries to convince Steve that signing the Accords will give him more leverage to save the man he chose. And it’s not even a lie – Tony’s scrambled to put in amendments to allow Barnes rehabilitation rather than putting him in the Raft even _before_ the UN bombing, and it’s not like Barnes would’ve blown up the place if he’d been out of HYDRA’s control anyway. He’d been prepared for something like this since the very beginning of the Accords, back when they’d just been a far-fetched idea in the political landscape and Tony’d been warily prepping for HYDRA to activate Barnes for some other mass-casualty event, and even if Tony’s not in the best position to negotiate with a fractured team causing havoc across the globe, he’d still put every iota of power and capital he had into getting ahead of this thing.

When he fights an activated Barnes – dead-eyed but predatory, a perfect weapon just ripe for an order in stark contrast to the man Steve had loved long ago – pity threads through the fear and adrenaline because this is _not_ the man Steve had talked about and Tony _hates_ that Barnes has been reduced to this thing that only exists to serve. He vows right then that he’ll take away this mind-control even if it kills him, not even for Steve but for Barnes himself, who never should’ve suffered through any of this. It doesn’t matter if he’s done terrible things or if it’ll cement the destruction of Tony’s relationship with Steve, because he _has_ to help this man who’s had _everything_ taken from him.

Steve escapes with Sharon Carter’s help, then it’s onto the next fight in Germany, and still Steve fights against reason, against Barnes’s _own best interests_, and then...

Then there’s nothing but Rhodey and Baron Zemo and _oh God_.

* * *

The proverbial hammer hits in Siberia, and no man could’ve predicted it, not even Tony.

He makes good time to the coordinates Wilson gave him at the Raft, slinks through corridors, and finally happens upon Steve and Barnes in a defensive position, Steve’s shield at the ready and a high-powered rifle aimed at his face. Despite the fact that it might be an insane decision if Barnes is still under HYDRA’s command, he quickly retracts the faceplate, making sure that his forward steps are easy and unthreatening. He looks around, the very picture on nonchalance, and he knows that Steve can read from his body language that he’s not here as a threat, Steve’s cowl-covered face scanning him with something akin to surprise. Still, he doesn’t lower the shield, though he does start to stand and move forward, and Tony’s not surprised by that. Tony’s very good at diffusing situations just to snap into action, just like Steve himself, and considering the past week, Tony doesn’t blame Steve for being on guard.

“You seem a little defensive,” Tony quips, drinking in the sight of Steve’s handsome features focussed entirely on him even though it hurts to be reminded of what he’s lost.

“It’s been a long day,” Steve volleys back, testing-testing-testing and moving forward even further, a fucking vision in his regalia and so handsome it almost takes Tony’s breath away.

Tony tries not to be distracted by him though, on edge himself because he has no idea what they’re walking into with Zemo and there’s a goddamn rifle pointed at his face, and he looks up at Barnes, all but telegraphing his intent to _help_. As airily as he can manage right now, he says to the trigger-happy Barnes, “At ease soldier, I’m not currently after you.”

He sees Steve flinch, an almost imperceptible movement that sets Tony’s teeth on edge after years in the field together, and his eyes flicker around for any source of the reaction, his mouth opening to ask what Steve hears or sees. He doesn’t have the chance to follow through however, because Steve shakes his head, brow furrowed as if forcing himself to refocus, and then he asks in a deliberately calm, but flat tone, “Then why are you here?”

Tony explains as expeditiously as he can, still straining for what had spooked Steve while also keeping his guard up because the fucking gun pointed at him hasn’t moved a millimetre, and mercifully Steve completely lowers his guard, assuring Barnes that there’s no threat from Tony after he finally snaps. They move onwards, a cohesive unit despite Barnes at Tony’s six, and it’s slow-going even with Barnes’s half-remembered directions and Tony’s sensors pointing them towards energy readings in the centre of the compound. It’s not a lot, since there are no blueprints they can follow, so they end up at dead-ends frequently, forced to turn around instead of blowing out a wall because they don’t want to make too much noise.

Eventually though, Tony gets a heat signature, and they walk into a room of carnage, all of the other juiced-up soldiers shot clean through the skull, and for a few seconds Tony doesn’t understand before it hits them that they’ve walked straight into a trap.

His first thought is Barnes, that there’s a plot by Zemo to kill all of the soldiers and had lured them here to kill Barnes too, but he quickly disregards that idea because it doesn’t make any sense. He’d had the opportunity to kill Barnes at the UN facility and these soldiers in private without so much as giving away his plans, getting off scot-free (at least until the footage of Zemo came in proving his involvement).

He doesn’t have the opportunity to think of more, because Zemo himself starts monologuing.

Then there’s nothing but grief, the sight of his mother choking to death branded in his brain permanently, the movement of his father’s lips clearly formed around begs for Barnes to save his wife. There’s nothing but rage when Steve lies and then finally admits that he _knew_, knew that Barnes had murdered his beautiful, soft mother in cold blood just because she was _there_. There’s nothing but _vengeance_, and despite the small little voice of rationality telling him that it wasn’t Barnes’s fault, that he should _get out of here_ before he does something he’ll regret for the rest of his life, all he can see is his mom dying and Steve’s pleading expression and all he wants to do is _hurt_.

He’s not so far gone that he engages to kill – they’re super-soldiers, heartier than most, and he wants to make them hurt just like he’s hurting now but he doesn’t want them dead. He goes hard, almost blind with fury and anguish and heartbreak, but he doesn’t aim for vitals. He could though, could kill them both so goddamn quickly that it’s almost a joke, blasting his failsafes and take this entire room down until there was nothing but ash and rubble and a fully-functional Iron Man armour, but he can’t, even still. That little voice is getting louder, his hindbrain telling him to _stop and think_, to take a step back and just _breathe_ for a second, but he can’t. It’s both because he can tell that Barnes, at least, _is_ going for a kill and he needs to defend himself, but also because he has to make them hurt, bring them down, _take them in_. Not to Ross, no, to the safehouse he’d set up on the flight to this godforsaken bunker (_even Barnes, and_ _oh God his mom his _mom_ he can’t do this he can’t_) and he just needs to fucking stop Barnes, _make him hurt_—

He can see what Steve’s trying to do, distract Tony just enough so Barnes can bolt, and he manages to trap Steve in the antechamber outside the silo (_it won’t_ _hold long he’s got approximately twenty seconds_) before he’s blowing the mechanised door and shakily making his way up towards Barnes (_not dead-eyed and predatory this time, not the Winter Soldier, just confused and fighting for his life and relying on instinct and what is Tony _doing_ right now he needs to stop he needs to _stop_ this_).

He gets a chokehold, holds Barnes in place for a solid second, and even though he knows he should be knocking him out (_or beating his face in no-no-_no_ he can’t do that it’s not his fault!_), he hears himself ask roughly, “Do you even remember them?”

“I remember all of them,” Barnes rasps, and the whole world goes white.

* * *

Tony’s world falls to pieces slowly, but it doesn’t shatter entirely until the words are spoken.

It’s _overwhelming_, an explosion of pain and pleasure both, blazing through his entire body like liquid fire in his veins, and his always-working brain catalogues it all in textbook clarity – _biological changes, mental-physical-emotional, inactive chemical compounds and neurological pathways in the brain activating simultaneously as the bond surges to life_ – even as his physical self tries to simply keep up with all of the inputs and stimuli – _pain, grief, awe, self-hatred, confusion, sorrow, guilt, arousal, fear-fear-fear_ – that’s flooding every nerve inside him and Barnes both. It’s too disorienting, and he doesn’t even realise that they’re falling until there’s an external flare of pain that echoes through both of them, his oversaturated brain vaguely realising that Steve’s stopped their fall by launching at them mid-air, slamming into them into a far wall of the silo before they crash at the bottom.

He can’t focus, his brain on fire from pain and pleasure and his prick throbbing painfully against the armour, and he’s out of his mind from the influx of everything that he doesn’t even register that Steve’s on top of him, using every bit of his strength to slam the shield on the hinges of his helmet, over and over again. He’s distantly aware that it hurts, that Barnes can _feel_ that it hurts through their fledgling, over-bright bond, and it’s _Steve_, Steve’s doing this, _Steve’s doing this_—

He feels something spike in the bond, a flare of pure terror so bright it takes Tony’s breath away, and he hears Barnes all but scream, “Steve, _stop_!”

The shield slams down one last time, Steve’s momentum too heavy to halt, and the helmet shatters, tearing at his skin in a bright blossom of pain and searing his exposed flesh with frigid Siberian air. It’s enough to bring some sense back into his sluggish, overwhelmed brain, and he sucks in one icy breath before the bile burns up his throat. He convulses and turns as much as he can in Steve’s straddle, vomiting all over the grated floor of this level, and he heaves until there’s nothing left to drip down to the cold concrete at the bottom, entire body shuddering and aching.

He can hear Barnes whispering “oh God oh God” like a mantra, can feel every wild emotion and hear every thought that flashes through Barnes’s brain, and Tony dry heaves some more, his mother’s dying face in high definition behind closed eyelids even as he feels Barnes permeating every crack in his body, their souls connecting like soulmates are supposed to and this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, it _can’t be_—

His mind completely disassociates with horror and shock, his whole world fading out until it’s nothing but white noise and an undercurrent of _other_.

* * *

He comes back to himself in stages.

Most of the inputs seem to come from Barnes, flashes of emotion that are vivid and raw (unsurprising, considering he’s been forced to mask them for so long, so it will be sharp until he relearns how to process emotions again) and a vague understanding of the current environment and company. He knows from an intellectual standpoint that he could pull at the bond until he’d practically be able to see out of Barnes’s eyes, could pull until he could hear every single thought in his Barnes’s head, but that just brings the nausea back, and he’s already trying so hard to ignore everything he possibly can.

It’s hard though. Barnes feels everything so intensely that it’s almost Tony’s own feelings, and his attention to his surroundings is so solid and detailed that it’s nearly impossible to avoid it. Tony can’t help but pray that the intensity fades once they’ve settled into this..._thing_, because he can’t stomach the thought of feeling this much all the time, especially with the man who—

He’s very cold, even though he’s aware that he’s no longer laying in the missile silo just from the familiar softness against his bare, bandaged cheek. They’re in the quinjet that Steve and Barnes took off in, he thinks, and doesn’t bother to verify this through the bond or his own eyes because he knows it’s not flying. It’s definitely on, yes, and prepped to fly, but the vibrations of flight aren’t resonating through his lax body, so they have to be grounded.

He drifts, dimly aware through Barnes’s inputs that Zemo’s unconscious and restrained in a corner of the quinjet, that T’Challa is somehow here and talking quietly with Steve about something very important, that Barnes is simply absorbing the information unless he has short words to add into the conversation. He thinks it may be about the Accords, and he lets that roll around in his head for a bit, nudging closer to full consciousness as he tries to focus through the fog in his head so he isn’t forced to intake through Barnes.

He snaps back to consciousness entirely when he hears his name: “Stark may have another solution, but I am quite familiar with the Accords, Captain, and this is our best opportunity to salvage this situation,” T’Challa says, patient and regal despite an edge of wariness in his tone. Tony figures that it’s not the first time T’Challa’s had to say this, and Steve is refusing to cooperate.

He can feel the growing anger from Barnes in the bond, and Tony wonders who the anger is directed at.

“I can’t sign them, your Highness,” Steve says, voice rough, like he’s the one who’s been beaten down instead of Tony (and Barnes). “I can’t allow Bucky to be placed in the hands of people like Ross, and I won’t be forced to lay down my shield if I’m needed.”

“You must,” T’Challa says evenly. “Stark has already put in provisions to protect Barnes—”

“He tried to kill him—no, they tried to kill _each other_,” Steve says, and Tony surprisingly doesn’t hear any anger, just that bone-deep anguish. He continues disjointedly, hoarse and shaky, “And despite...despite what just...what just—look, Tony’s a good person, the best man I’ve...but I don’t know how he’s going to...what he’ll do despite what just...”

Tony takes a moment to take stock of what feels like _him_ rather than Barnes, and he’s somewhat relieved that his own unbridled fury has dissipated at least, though Barnes’s anger is a strong undercurrent. The grief and pain rolling around in his entire body is still heavy and overwhelming, but it’s manageable through the overall numbness, and he hears himself say through a raw throat, “I had a plan.”

“Tony!” Steve croaks, a current of pure relief and joy in his voice before Tony audibly hears him deflate against his seat, as if remembering that he’s not allowed to do that right now. Or possibly ever again. Tony doesn’t like to hold grudges, and people say he’s too forgiving to his own detriment sometimes, but Tony’s _hurt_ right now, a kind of hurt that surpasses every single horrible thing that’s ever been done to him before.

He wants to run and hide (_there’s no hiding anymore, Barnes will always be in his head_) so he can process all of this grief and pain, so he can _think_, but he also knows that he doesn’t have that luxury right now – he has no idea how long he’s been out, how much time is left on Ross’s deadline, and besides, the sooner he can get this settled, the sooner he can _get away_.

Tony ignores them all as best he can, even Barnes, trying to give himself the illusion that he’s just talking out loud in his workshop in an effort to brainstorm. His eyes closed, he says roughly, “Steve gets brought in by me, probably spends a few days in jail while I present the evidence of Zemo to the Council and get it acquitted under Title 156, maybe 294 or even 57 if I’m really lucky, and we could have him and the rest of the team in upstate New York within the week. Ross gave me a deadline to have Steve and Barnes in custody, and if I bust it he’ll put out the order for _my_ arrest, but if I can manage to make that deadline, I’ll be able to get everyone stateside before I push the Ross package to get him and all of his double-dealing cronies thrown in jail for the plethora of shit I’ve been accumulating for the better part of ten years. Steve doesn’t have to sign the Accords right this second if he doesn’t want to, but once he and the others are stateside, I’ll be able to bring them into our end of the discussions because you can be sure there’ll be amendments brought to the table because of Zemo, and we can all start working our magic to move the Accords in a direction that makes Steve’s side willing to sign the thing. It does hinge on Steve and his side keeping their heads down after the acquittals if they don’t sign what we’ve got now, but we can cross that bridge if we get there.”

“What about Bucky?” Steve asks.

Tony grits his teeth, takes a deep breath to hold back the urge to snap about the predictability of Steve’s priorities, and lets it out very slowly before he answers, “As far as I can see, we’ve got two choices here. The first is Barnes being brought in with you, because T’Challa’s right when he said that we made sure Barnes was covered in the current rendition of the Accords, so he’d be safe, and with the whole Zemo fiasco, we can make the argument that he’d have to be in Avengers’ custody to make sure no one activates him without consent and I seriously doubt that anyone will disagree. I’d recommend this one, if only to stave off the paperwork and the international manhunt, plus we’ll be able to get him the help he’d need to get rid of those trigger words under an official mandate, rather than risking the safety and freedom of medical and technical professionals who would have to be brought in under the table otherwise.

“The second is sending him to a safehouse; there are boltholes scattered across the globe that I had built for Bruce, so we can make sure that he’s secure, but it’ll be dangerous, and there’s no guarantee that we’d be able to expedite any treatment options for trigger removal because we’d have to deal on the down-low, which means that he’ll probably be fucked up for significantly longer. Obviously I don’t recommend that one, especially since I have no idea how a runaway master assassin will be able to get past _evading arrest_ without consequence when we finally make your precious _Bucky_ all better and boo-boo-free, but I’m not his fucking handler and either way it goes, he’ll be decommissioned eventually. No one wants him active again, especially me.”

He hears Steve ask something, but it’s muffled by Barnes, who says, _I’m too dangerous to be let out without safety measures. The King said that he could put me into cryo in Wakanda, but if I go in with Steve and get imprisoned in the U.S., would it even be possible to do that?_

Tony tries not to flinch at the sound of his voice, at the vivid emotions rolling through the bond (_fear, confusion, curiosity, terror, resolve_), and asks, “What the fuck do you mean, cryo? You can’t start BARF therapy in cryo, and it’s not like you’re going to be activated in the Avengers compound, let alone be _imprisoned_ in it. If it makes you feel better, we can put you in Bruce’s quarters, since they’re Hulk-proof, and if Big Green can’t get out of it you sure as hell won’t be able to.”

There’s a moment of dead silence, the vibrations sounding over-loud because of it, and then Steve chokes out in a wrecked voice, “Perhaps you could...ask your questions out loud, Bucky, so we can all hear them?”

Tony’s eyes snap open, a full-body shudder nearly making him fall off the quinjet’s seating he’s laid out on, and as he stares blankly at the ceiling, he says in a very flat, deadly voice, “Stay the _fuck_ out of my head Barnes.”

“It’s to be expected whilst the bond is new,” T’Challa says gently, but Tony’s too distracted by the vivid flare of regret and self-hatred, a combination of intense emotion that takes Tony’s breath away because it’s so unimaginably painful. Without even realising it, he instinctively feels himself pushing back at it, trying to make it _stop_, flooding the bond with apology and a calmness he doesn’t wholly feel.

“Tony, it’s not his fault—” Steve starts, voice shaking so hard that it’s almost inaudible.

“Steve, for once in your life, just _stop_,” Barnes rasps out loud. Then after a few harsh breaths that echo in the passenger bay of the quinjet, he continues, “He has every right to ask that of me, and I owe it to him to try.”

Tony feels nauseous, trying to work out what emotions are his and what aren’t, actively feeling Barnes trying his damndest to pull back and give Tony some peace in his own head even though it’s not quite successful, and he swallows back the bile in his throat so he can say tightly, “If you choose to not come in with us, you can go with the King if he’s offering, but my BARF technology can deal with your triggers so you won’t need cryo. I can have the equipment in country within two days, your brain scans within another, and then we can start therapy under T’Challa’s supervision.”

“I did offer my kingdom as sanctuary to you, but I would emphatically recommend going into custody,” T’Challa says quietly. “But I will endeavour you both to make a choice very soon, as I am privy to the deadline Secretary Ross has ordered and we are running short on time.”

There’s a beat of quiet, and then Barnes says, sounding so exhausted and small that it hurts inside Tony’s chest, “Steve, _please_. Don’t make this harder than it already is. You know Stark bringing us in is the best move tactically, and I have to make this right. I can’t do that if I’m on the run with HYDRA’s triggers still in my head.”

Steve’s silent for a long time, but he finally whispers, “Okay.”

* * *

Time goes by at both a snail’s pace and so fast that Tony feels like he’s scrambling to keep up.

It goes about as well as expected – with the introduction of Zemo’s machinations, the confirmation that all the enhanced soldiers are dead, and the voluntary surrender of Steve and Barnes, Tony has both of them stateside within two days, mere hours after the Avengers on the Raft land upstate themselves. It could’ve gone faster, he supposes, if he’d invoked Title 3’s soulmate clause, but like hell he was going to give any member of the Accords the knowledge that James Buchanan Barnes was his soulmate, especially with Ross as a gameplayer. Ross hates Tony about as much as he hates Bruce and would probably conduct a smear campaign in response, and no one wants that, especially with the Accords currently being modified.

Surprisingly, there are no hard feelings from Steve’s side when they greet Tony and his acquitted criminals behind him. Clint had been a wildcard in the Raft, but Tony gets it; he’d been mad and terrified and he’d taken out his frustrations on the closest available target, which had been Tony, and Tony’s an old hat with that sort of thing. In fact, Clint had even pulled him aside before they’d gone inside the compound and actually apologised for it, though Tony isn’t particularly bothered by it all, considering it had put on a good show for Ross and he’s used to being blamed. Nothing really new there, so Tony shrugs it off like he always does, letting it be yet another nightmare to add to the collection of _not being good enough_.

He feels Barnes pick up on that, a flash of bright anger and deep sadness, but to Barnes’s credit he does try to pull it back, shaky at best but an attempt nonetheless.

The current political environment and shaky standing of the ‘Rogue Avengers’ is the more pressing concern, rather than Barnes’s triggers since he’s surrounded by superheroes in one of the most secure facilities on the planet, so in a room full of lawyers and PR reps, they all sit down as a cohesive unit and have a long, _long_ discussion about their next move forward. They don’t have a lot of time, considering the Accords are being adjusted _now_, and they have to get ahead of it in a way they should’ve done the first time around, rather than Tony trying to do it by himself while the others took care of threats or searched for Barnes, overall ignorant of what was happening. That’s on Tony, and he’ll be damned if he makes the same mistake again.

They don’t leave that conference room for three days as updates to the Accords come in real-time, napping and eating in a corner whenever they snag a moment and not even taking a break to shower, but they _finally_ come to an agreement of sorts. They’re exhausted and frayed at the edges, snapping at each other over the smallest things despite being mercifully unified for the actual topic at hand, and Tony’s even more stressed because he’s also pushing the Ross package to the U.S. Government and the UN to get that sonofabitch imprisoned, trying to find a surgeon for Rhodey that can possibly get him walking (or at least pain-free) again, _and_ being forced to be in close proximity with Steve and Barnes over the course of several days. Tony tries his hardest to ignore them both, even though it’s impossible with the bond when it comes to Barnes, and involve them in the discussion with civility; still, he desperately wants to get away, be alone for a goddamn _second_ so he can process and try to come to terms with the fact that everything’s going to change now.

At least the bond stabilises somewhat as it works to solidify (ineffectually), and Tony counts that as a blessing. He knows from the scientific studies that it’d be easier and faster if they had skin-to-skin contact with about a week of freely letting it pour through them, but that’s definitely not going to happen anytime soon. Not only do they not have the time to _cuddle_ or whatever for a solid week, but there’s no way in hell Tony’s comfortable with Barnes right now, triggers or not, and there’s Steve to consider, who’s quiet and solemn and has literally broken down in harsh, agonising _sobs_ four times over the course of the three days, hastily excusing himself to lock himself in the closest bathroom so he doesn’t interrupt VTCs and brainstorming sessions.

That seems to spook everyone, and while Tony thinks Natasha’s aware of what happened as she always seems to be, none of the others seem to know that Barnes is Tony’s...God, he can’t even think about it without edging the line of a panic attack.

At nearly ten at night on the third day, Ross and twenty-eight of his cohorts across thirteen countries are arrested, but they don’t have time to celebrate, all of them distracted by the last-minute adjustments before the UN and Accords Council convenes in just a few hours. However, at just a little past eleven in the morning on the fourth day, all of them waiting in tense silence, the vote passes for the proposed amendments with an overwhelming majority, 123-4, and they _finally_ are able to let go, champagne being cracked open and nearly everyone talking excitedly over each other, even the fucking _lawyers_.

Tony simply falls back into his chair, somehow shocked that they’d managed to do this in such a condensed timeline despite knowing from personal experience that the Avengers are unstoppable when they’re working together. He rubs at his face with rough hands, the exhaustion hitting him like a barge to the solar plexus, and he just lets the wild noise wash over him, a concrete reminder that they’ve won this fight, that his family hasn’t been torn to pieces even though it’d been a damn close call.

Slithering past the exuberant noise around him, he hears Barnes ask without words, _I’m sorry for this, Mr Stark, and I know that you need...space, but I would like to know who to talk to so I can have the arm removed and I don’t know who else to ask_.

Tony has an initial instinct to bolt, to yell out loud over all the laughter and excited chatter that Barnes needs to fuck off and get out of his head or Tony’ll order a lobotomy, but he takes a deep breath behind his hands and forces himself to relax. After a moment, he collects himself enough that the panic and terrified rage dies down, and he clarifies flatly, _You want the arm removed_.

A flash of surprise, as if Barnes had been shocked Tony’d replied through their bond rather than out loud, and then there’s a disorienting surge of both hope and nerves that makes Tony’s gut churn. He’s not even sure if it’s nausea or warmth, unwilling to dissect his own body’s responses to Barnes’s tentatively positive emotions, and Barnes says, _Yes. I may have HYDRA in my head until we can cut it out, but I can cut this off now. It will also have the added advantage of making me less dangerous during therapy._

Tony has the specs of the arm now, pilfered after the fall of SHIELD and subsequent findings during their raids, not to mention paper files stored at the bunker in Siberia. He also knows that Barnes has a point – he’s dangerous whether or not he has the arm or not, but the arm being removed will undoubtedly take some of the edge off and Tony’s not going to lie to himself: being able to get his hands on the prosthetic that strangled his mother to death so he can _obliterate_ it would be cathartic beyond all belief. He _knows_ that the Winter Soldier had been brainwashed and ordered to kill his parents, Barnes himself completely innocent, but that arm was the weapon he’d used and somehow, he thinks it might soothe the bleeding edges of his grief to actually destroy the fucking thing.

Very softly, even hesitantly, Barnes tells him through the bond, _Being innocent of conscious intent does not erase your pain and grief resulting from my actions, Mr Stark._

Tony’s eyes clench shut behind his palms and the spike of anguish bleeds through every cell in his body; he feels Barnes recoil from the strength of it, then he seems to bleed right alongside Tony himself, their emotions feeding on each other until it feels like Tony’s heart could fail entirely with the pain. God, it hurts, hurts _so much_, and his eyes burn while he tries to focus on breathing through clenched teeth.

It seems like it lasts forever before he registers that someone’s trying to get his attention, and he summons every iota of strength he has left in his broken heart and exhausted body so he can pull himself together, push away the grief that he needs to fucking _process_. He finally rubs his face one last time, making an effort to hide his internal emotions with his media-ready mask, and then drops his hands, looking up at Natasha’s familiar face.

He knows she can see right through him but she takes pity on him, mercifully not mentioning how high-strung and shattered he must look behind the façade, and says quietly, “I think everyone needs to take a day to recover instead of jumping straight into the next fire, so why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll deal with our guests and we can start again tomorrow.”

Tony shakes his head once and clears his throat, saying quietly, “I’m removing the arm first, but I need Steve out of the room while I do it.”

Natasha looks at him for a long moment and then murmurs so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her through the din, “I had a suspicion that you’d bonded with him. This isn’t good, Tony.”

Tony sighs heavily and doesn’t respond to that, instead asking flatly, “Did you know?”

Natasha sits down gracefully in the chair next to him, her expression impassive, which tells Tony more than anything that she’s trying to keep herself pulled together too. She doesn’t ask him what he’s referring to either, instead saying, “I told him that it was a bad idea to keep it from you, but he was adamant. Perhaps I should have told you myself but I didn’t, and that’s entirely on me.”

Tony tries to breathe past the betrayal that he’d suspected, heart aching in his chest like it’s being gripped with an iron fist, and then croaks, “You should have.”

“Perhaps,” she says again, ambiguous as always. “I understand what his fears and concerns were, in any case, and I don’t fault him for it because he’s human. I don’t believe that you ever would have blamed Barnes himself for it if you’d been told in advance, and I don’t think for a second that you would’ve sabotaged the search regardless of your personal feelings, but Steve needed to come to terms with it himself before talking to you and by the time he’d done that, the consequences for Steve’s silence had already been cemented. Perhaps keeping you in the dark was the wiser move or perhaps it wasn’t, but as wise men like to say Antoshka, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and what’s done is done. All we can do is work to rebuild your trust, if such a thing is possible, and try to work past the lack of it in our duties no matter what.”

Then she sighs, brushing one hand against his tense shoulder, and changes the subject, saying quietly, “I would volunteer to distract Steve during the time that you’d need to remove the arm, but I am not sure if that’s wise. With Rhodes currently on bed-rest, I’m the best bet for assisting you in removing the arm if you’re not able to turn off the pain receptors.”

Shit, Tony hadn’t even considered that, and he wants to bury his face into a pillow and _scream_. He’s fully aware that HYDRA had connected the prosthetic arm on Barnes to his neurological system, sort of like how Tony controls the suit, but instead of it being a hunk of metal that moved at Barnes’s command, they’d connected it to base sensory input: temperature, pressure, and most alarmingly, _pain_. With their bond being in its infancy and therefore every sense is magnified ten-fold, and the simple fact that the serum metabolises any pain medication faster than it can work, Tony’s going to feel every bit of it like it’s actively happening to himself, and yeah, there’s a damn good chance that Tony won’t be able to open the arm up to get to the circuit board without being on his knees. Torture’s an old friend to Tony, but he’s not a fucking super-soldier, and HYDRA had tailored their methods to that sort of constitution.

Barnes echoes that damningly, because unfiltered horror is flooding their bond despite Barnes trying to hold it back. _No_, he says through their link, even his mental thought hard.

_You can’t tell me what I can and can’t take, Barnes_, Tony all but snarls, eyes glaring at the wall because he refuses to look him dead-on. _I want that arm, and you want it gone just as much_.

_It doesn’t matter if you want it if it could hurt you._

_It’s not your fucking problem—_

_It sure as hell is, Stark, because I’ve put you through enough. I will not add torture to the list,_ Barnes snaps back, and there’s no room for argument in his tone. Their anger and stubbornness is starting to bleed out of the bond into their actual bodies, visible to anyone who’s paying attention, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve murmuring at Barnes, placing a hand on his shoulder with wide, bloodshot eyes flickering between the two of them.

Still, Tony bares his teeth and hisses through the bond, _It’s my decision to make, not yours. You’ve already made your decision to let me have it, and I am following through_.

“It could _kill_ you!” Barnes practically bellows, the most emotion Tony’s heard displayed from his spoken or mental voice, and the fact that he yells it out loud makes the cheerful celebration around them stop dead in its tracks, the silence almost deafening after the cacophony. The bond is practically _throbbing_ between them, anger and fear and resolve and a thousand other things, a mess of emotion that nearly makes Tony dizzy.

“Tony, what is he talking about?” Steve says roughly, breaking the surprised quiet.

Tony forces himself to take yet another deep breath, eyes falling closed in an effort to calm the bond down, and then Tony bites out, “Anyone who’s not an Avenger, get the fuck out.” He waits until the lawyers and PR reps vacate the conference room, and then he asks bluntly through gritted teeth, “Wanda, you have the ability to get into people’s heads, even our dear Captain’s. Do you know if you can somehow block a mental connection from the physical to disconnect pain receptors, specifically for a serum-enhanced individual?”

A beat of confused silence, and then Wanda says slowly, “I am...not sure. Do you want me to try?”

Before Tony can reply, Vision interjects, “It is theoretically possible, but it would take a period of trial and error prior to be positive that it would be effective. What is your intent?”

Tony hesitates, nausea rolling through his stomach at the thought of his next words being uttered out loud, but the rest of his team needs to know this because it’s not like they’re going to be able to hide it. He steels himself, and then opens his eyes and says flatly, “Barnes wants to remove the prosthetic arm. I would like to _obliterate_ said arm. To remove it, I’m going to need to disconnect the pain receptors so I can remove the interface from his neural system without forcing him to suffer through a twenty-hour-or-so procedure of excruciating pain. Sure, he could probably handle it without _his_ brain leaking out of his ears, but _I_ certainly can’t, and that’s a pretty major problem because Captain America’s boytoy over there is apparently my fucking _soulmate_.”

“What the _fuck_?!” Clint barks out, and it’s utter pandemonium after that.

Everyone’s talking over each other, demanding answers and pretty obviously horrified (Tony gets that, because it’s not like it’s a goddamn secret that Steve’s in love with both of them), and Tony’s head pounds with pain, everything just _too fucking much_. He wants to sleep, wants to hide, wants to disappear, wants it all to stop, and he lowers his forehead to the table, the chilled glass heavenly against his skin.

_Can she do that?_ he hears Barnes ask quietly, a spark of hope curling through the bond, and Tony can’t help but practically dive into that feeling, letting it soothe his shattered nerves and bolster his own hope. Surprisingly, Barnes pushes more of it through, airy and bright, and Tony groans against the glass, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders and chest until he feels like he could fall asleep if he allowed himself to. He really _does_ want that arm, wants to wreck it and tear it apart and destroy it until it’s nothing but ash, and maybe he’ll be able to finally get some goddamn closure for once without having to kill Barnes to do it. He honestly doesn’t want to do that, even though everything’s still so raw, and he’s not sure if that’s the bond talking or his own morality or just for Steve’s sake.

Tiredly, Tony responds, _Wanda’s strong, strong enough that she could fuck with Steve’s reality. If anyone’s going to be able to do this, it’s going to be her. Otherwise, we’re doing it the old-fashioned way_.

_Or we could, y’know, wait a fuckin’ second and give you time to work out a way to do it with some sorta machine instead of riskin’ your life._ His accent is stronger suddenly, not as flat and almost Midwestern but instead a bit of that antiquated Brooklyn that Steve also slips into when he’s tired or aroused. It’s both painful and strangely comforting, and combined with the more positive emotions in the bond, he feels rather woozy, the high tension and shoddy sleep over the past several days suddenly catching up to him. Even the blistering headache is eased up a bit, and he wonders absently if that’s due to Barnes too. It’s damn strange to be...oddly comforted by Barnes of all fucking people.

Fighting the urge to yawn, he answers, _I’d prefer to have the thing off you as soon as possible, preferably _yesterday_, and building something for that purpose would have to be done before I’d even think about BARF. Besides, I don’t have any concept of self-preservation – didn’t Steve tell you that when you were gossiping about little ‘ol me?_

_I don’t care if you regularly throw yourself through buildings or not, I’m not comfortable with this. Maybe you can just blow it off instead? Surely that’d be faster than diggin’ around in the damn thing for an off-switch._

Tony raises his head and looks at Barnes for the first time in what feels like a year, blinking once at him in disbelief. The anger and grief that he expected at the sight of that face is strangely absent, his brain foggy with Barnes’s emotions – he’s pushing through more than hope now, including wry amusement and something akin to curiosity, maybe – and the bizarreness of his words.

Barnes shrugs with one shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching up in the ghost of a smile. _What? It’d work, wouldn’t it? Sure, it’ll hurt like a bitch for both of us for a split second, but you know where the interface is and I _know_ your genius ass has something that can blow it to pieces. So why not put on that pretty suit of yours and just repulsor the fuck outta the thing?_

“You’re batshit crazy, you know that Barnes?” he says out loud with another slow blink, and then he lets out a slightly hysterical bark of a laugh, unexpected and surprising to say the least.

“I’m right, ain’t I?” Barnes volleys back, and Tony shakes his head, reluctantly impressed and just plain amused despite the fact that it’s _Barnes_.

“What’re you two plotting?” Natasha asks, making Tony startle as he suddenly remembers that yeah, there are other people in the room.

“I think I just said that he’s batshit crazy, but he is, in fact, not wrong.” Tony eyes him, pushing into the bond to see if there’s any trepidation or reluctance, but he can’t feel anything except amusement and resolve and that bright _hope_, which is good enough for Tony. “Wanna do it now?”

“Absolutely,” Barnes says, standing up. He doesn’t take his eyes off Tony when he says carefully, “Steve, I’d like you to stay outta this one, yeah?”

“Why?” Steve asks slowly, his raw voice not making up for the wariness of his tone.

“’Cos you’re not gonna like it.”

“Right, because that’s not concerning.”

Barnes sighs, cocks his head at Tony as if to say _what can you do?_ or something, and then turns to face Steve fully, his expression carefully impassive. Firmly, he says, “Stark’s gonna blow it off, and I’m gonna let him.”

Weirdly, no one really reacts negatively to that verbally; even Steve is quiet, face paling and mouth thinning but clearly swallowing the objection he wants to make, and Natasha nods slowly. “That’s...actually a good idea.”

“Yeah, and it’ll be therapeutic for both of us, so let’s do it,” Tony says, a vengeful delight lighting up his brain at the idea of wrecking that fucking arm _up_. The control panel is in the bicep, and with a localised unibeam, he’ll be able to all but blow out the interface and then literally cut the damn thing off as close to the human tissue as possible. Sure, it’ll leave Barnes without an ar—ooh, wait, that’s a hell of a thought, isn’t it? SI does prosthetics with neural implants all the time for anyone who needs one, but to make one that is _super-soldier durable_? That’s—wow, if he used some sort of adamantium alloy, or _fuck_, he could call in T’Challa’s favour for both himself _and_ Barnes and totally convince His Royal Kittiness that a chunk of vibranium would be for the benefit of mankind or something. God, he’s been salivating to get his hands on some of that shit and T’Challa has been stingy as fuck despite Tony practically offering his entire fortune for it, but maybe this could totally work. Regardless, fully-functioning interface with full integration with the nervous system instead of that bullshit HYDRA tried to pull, crazy durability because it’ll have to hold up in a fight since Steve’s always getting into those and God knows he’ll _absolutely_ pull Barnes into his shit, seamless and delicate manoeuvrability like he uses in the Iron Man armour because a man should always be able to use both hands to hold a wine glass or jerk off or whatever, and fuck knows _Tony_ wouldn’t want to pinch the skin of his dick in the heat of the moment (unless he consented to it prior anyway, but whatever). Maybe nanotech? He’s kind of working on a nanite suit right now so that definitely takes priority, but it’s not like he couldn’t tinker with the idea while he’s building something for the current moment or integrate the two where the joints would be. _Oh_, and he could totally make HYDRA weep and piss themselves in their fucking _graves_ if he—

_Goddamn, your mind is fuckin’ beautiful_, he hears slither through his excitedly working mind, clearly not meant to be heard, and Tony blinks rapidly at Barnes as he refocuses back on the real world.

To Tony’s surprise and distant amusement, Barnes actually flushes a little bit, and Tony can practically taste his embarrassment. Instead of laughing (which he’s kind of tempted to do honestly) Tony says in a remarkably steady voice, “I...literally have no idea how to react to that, so I’m going to pretend you didn’t say it. Think it. Whatever. Wanna see my evil lair and cut off your arm instead?”

“Absolutely,” Barnes says again, and even though Tony’s confused and conflicted and hurt and angry and upset and in pain and _really_ needs some space to process, he can’t help but grin back, shaky but honest.

* * *

And life goes on in their new normal.

Tony blows the arm’s interface (the brief flash of pain does knock him unconscious for a split-second) and then cuts off the arm entirely once he’s no longer likely to cut his own arm off in the process due to the shaking. He takes two days of personal time to sleep, scream himself awake, sick up every meal he tries to choke down, sleep some more, _and_ continue trying to function around a surprise soulbond while also trying to come to terms with what happened.

That part’s not so simple, but he hadn’t expected it to be. He actually has a rougher time coming to terms with _Steve_ than Barnes, which he supposes isn’t too strange – Barnes isn’t someone he’s known and loved and been_ in love_ with, unlike Steve, so now that he’s gleefully annihilated the weapon built by the organisation that ordered his parents’ murder, it’s somehow easier to compartmentalise the Winter Soldier from Bucky Barnes. Steve, however, had lied to him, taken off in a blaze of destruction to protect Barnes (warranted or not), and then bashed his helmet open with his vibranium shield.

Still, he misses his best friend and the man he loves, and it’s hard to feel any real anger towards Steve when he’s thinking logically. He’d lied to Tony about his parents, but it’s not like Tony hasn’t withheld truths from _Steve_, Ultron being a very good example of that, and while it still hurts that Steve had done it, he kind of understands the fear Steve must’ve been feeling. Objectively, Tony _can’t_ say how he would’ve reacted if he’d learnt about his parents directly after SHIELD fell, and Tony can’t really blame him for wanting to both protect a brainwashed Barnes _and_ protect Tony from the unimaginable grief of something he’d already grieved over decades ago.

And Tony has to be honest: it must be _excruciating_ for Steve to fall in love with one man, then be torn from his life in the harshest way possible and eventually have to accept that his first love was dead, then fall in love with _another_ man just as hard, then have everything fall apart because the two men he loved are soulmates with_ each other_ instead of him, especially while attempting to protect them both from the other.

But there _is_ a seed of vindictiveness in him that he hates for...maliciously enjoying the fact that Steve’s miserable right now, if FRIDAY and Barnes himself are to be believed.

God, but he’s a fucking terrible person, isn’t he?

_No you’re not_, Barnes says to him through the bond, almost absently, and Tony rolls his eyes in the privacy of his own room.

Eventually though, Tony feels solid and steady enough to venture out into the real world, half because he’s come to terms with the fact that his life is and always _will_ be fucked up and half because he’s got way too much shit to do to be moping around in bed feeling sorry for himself. Rhodey’s about to be released from hospital and he has Barnes’s triggers to remove, an arm to build, Accords to monitor, trials to testify in, press to navigate, a company to design for, and Avengers’ missions to do. No sleep or extended holidays for the wicked, after all.

Besides, the bond is still insanely vivid and overwhelming, and there’s nothing he can do to solidify it into something manageable unless he follows the grade school biology lessons he’d learnt at four-years-old: contact, contact, _contact_. It’s not like it’s exactly hard either, because the Accords are currently locked in place until the next dramatic calamity inevitably kicks off and Rhodey would kill him if he hovered at his bedside. Most of Tony’s focus can be solely placed on removing the triggers first and foremost, since the deactivation of any Winter Soldier activity is high priority to literally every human being on the planet, and that means physical contact, made even easier since he does measurements and tinkers with new arm schematics in between sessions.

At least that’s easier to stomach, now that his head’s somewhat straight.

The very first time they touch, skin-to-skin, it nearly knocks both of them on their arse. Barnes is standing in front of an unassuming chair when Tony puts a sensor on his forehead, his fingertips brushing Barnes’s temple, and only Barnes’s lightning-quick snag of Tony’s waist with his remaining arm keeps him upright. They pant against each other as they try to breathe around the surge of _everything_, Tony’s hand pressed against Barnes’s hair as the rest of his body sags into Barnes’s front, and Tony doesn’t even have the thought to jerk away because _wow_. He’d always read about the science and biology behind soulbonds, from its activation to its solidification, and he’d known that it would be overwhelming and over-bright until it had finally set, but he _never_ would’ve imagined how it actually felt.

Easy to see why most people hid in bed completely naked for a good week or more, sex involved or not, because...just _wow_.

It’s damn near impossible to separate but they manage somehow, somewhat because they have an audience (for security reasons, just in case the BARF tech accidentally activated the Winter Soldier, and neither one of them want their team, particularly Steve, to see them plastered against each other, shivering and shaking and gasping and hard as fucking _rocks_) but mostly because they both want the triggers gone as soon as humanly possible. They grit their teeth and separate on liquid legs, though it isn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it doesn’t really matter in the long run, because Tony has to place the sensors again, and again, and _again_, and oh _fuck_ this is going to take forever, even if he knows from an intellectual standpoint that all the touching is helping them solidify the bond so they can function normally.

By some miracle, he manages to keep from coming in his pants at least, though it’s a close thing, especially since Barnes is riding the line of orgasm himself, his emotions heady and embarrassed as they blaze through Tony just as vibrantly as Tony’s flood through Barnes. Tony tries to assure Barnes through the bond that it’s normal, the chemistry and biology hijacking the pleasure centres of their brains to get them to hide away with each other so it can solidify properly, but Barnes just says breathlessly, “Yeah, I know. Fuck, this is impossible, isn’t it?”

Tony can’t disagree, like, at all.

_Do you want me to put them on myself?_ Barnes asks.

Tony shakes his head. _No, not really. The more contact we have, the sooner it’ll set in our systems so we can control it, and I dunno about you, but I’d be less worried if I didn’t have raw, unfiltered access to your brain while doing this trigger removal._

That stops Barnes short, dawning realisation flaring through the bond. _Er, wait. I want the triggers gone about as much as you do, but you said the tech would be slight alterations to the memories and those memories, even altered, won’t...well, they’re not very happy. Should we wait until we can control this thing, so you can block it out?_

Tony’s been trying not to think about that, actually, but it is a good point. Still. _Maybe_, he admits after a moment, _but I still think we should do these baselines first. I’ll be getting positive and negative input for a baseline, and that’ll include some gnarly shit from your time in HYDRA’s control. If I can handle that, then we can proceed with the therapy._

_If not?_ he asks.

Tony sighs. _Then I guess we’re gonna spend some time cuddling._

Miraculously, that makes Barnes laugh, amusement bleeding through their bond, and he looks about ten years younger when he smiles.

So they very-_very_ slowly work through setting up the baseline tests, the process taking about two hours longer than it should because both the brief contacts and the memory pulls are overwhelming to work around. Tony makes sure that they’re not touching through the memory pulls though, wanting a true baseline, and he has a suspicion that the trigger removal might be easier since they have the bond because it’s yet another thing that will differentiate the horror Barnes had suffered through when being programmed when he starts therapy.

And honestly? While the torture Barnes had gone through is absolutely terrible, Tony’s familiar with emotional and physical torture himself so he finds that he actually _can_ deal with it, and they decide to soldier through the therapy without taking a week or so to get their bond in order.

If anything, it separates the Winter Soldier from Barnes in a concrete, undeniable way as they tirelessly fight for Barnes’s autonomy over the course of two months, and faster than he’d expected (with a bond that doesn’t allow them to lie or hide from each other to soften the way), he finds that he doesn’t have a single lick of hard feelings remaining, a clear delineation between the two distinctly separate men allowing him to truly and wholly _forgive_.

Which, considering the universe is out to get him, means that he falls _hard and fast_.

At least by the time Tony realises it, their bond is strong and solid enough that he can lock it down with brutal efficiency, sequestered away in his mind alone.

* * *

Soulbonds are, by nature, absolute.

Everything is flawless between two soulmates. Genetic preferences like sexuality and attraction are aligned, personalities are complementing, libido is balanced, temperaments are identical – it’s a billion puzzle pieces that make up their entire human selves effortlessly slotting together in a way that, unless they actively choose to do otherwise, they don’t disagree on a single thing, from what they want for breakfast to the best way to solve a problem in the field. It’d be more alarming if it wasn’t so beautiful, honestly, that a single person can understand every single bit of Tony and not find him wanting in _literally any possible way_, because that same person was _born_ to find him perfect. It’s just as beautiful and distantly alarming that the same applies in reverse, because James Barnes is quite honestly the most brilliant and awing thing Tony’s ever had the pleasure to see and feel with his own mind, matched perfectly to offset and compliment every flaw and genius in Tony’s person.

There’s a reason why there’s never been a documented case in history of two soulmates not being in a relationship, after all.

So, _naturally_, Tony and James – because he’s James now, mostly because he giggles helplessly when he actually says ‘Bucky’ out loud but also because James seems to like it – are the exceptions to that universal rule, which would be funny if it wasn’t so complicated. He knows that in a perfect world, Tony would’ve dragged James’s sexy, delicious arse into bed about four-point-three milliseconds after the bond flared for the first time, but they don’t live in a perfect world and there are other factors at play.

Honestly, it mostly boils down to Steve.

It’s not even that Tony’d feel guilty if he all but forgot his relationship with Steve and snagged James for himself without even bothering to care about past non-soulmate connections – even though he definitely would if the thought had even crossed his mind, which it genuinely hasn’t – because that’s the expected outcome: he’s supposed to drop every relationship and dedicate his entire soul to his soulmate, and with the bond between them, it’d be easier than breathing to do so. That’s not going to happen though, because James might be his soulmate and they might be unbelievably good friends now but James isn’t in love with Tony. There’s no glimmer of it in the bond, no inkling that it could ever be a possibility, and soulbond or not, Tony’s not the type to invest his romantic capital on someone who wouldn’t be receptive of it. It rides the line of sexual harassment in Tony’s head, and it would be even more so with the bond between them. No, he only invests in people who could reciprocate, and James definitely doesn’t.

Ultimately, the biggest problem is that he just fucking _loves_ Steve Rogers, so much that it’s like a gaping, bleeding wound in his chest every second of every day, and not even a bond with James can erase that. It’s doubly painful because Tony feels that exact same sentiment in the bond itself from James, and no attempts to hide his actual thoughts on the matter from Tony can eliminate the pain and despair Tony feels resonating from James’s soul constantly. They’ve bonded to each other in an irreversible way but that doesn’t change the fact that they both gave their souls to the same man, regardless of bonds, and it’s also agonising to see Steve as a shell of himself, avoiding both of them as he desperately (and futilely, most likely) tries to come to terms with what happened.

Knowing Steve, the goddamn beautiful man he is, he’s probably trying to make himself scarce so he doesn’t interfere with Tony and James’s bonding by bringing in painful reminders of their past relationships, as if being out-of-sight can do such a thing.

What makes it worse is that both Tony _and_ James just want their damn friend back first and foremost, and Steve had practically fled the compound the second James’s BARF therapy had concluded (the triggers gone-gone-gone), only coming back for brief interludes when there was an urgent Avengers summoning and even then remaining professional and closed off. Tony could probably find him in about ten seconds if he really wanted to, but he’s not cruel, and he knows that Steve needs some space right now.

Tony and James don’t talk about Steve though, and they bury any personal feelings and thoughts about him so they can keep that private, neither one of them ready to open that can of worms quite yet. It’s the one thing they don’t share – even though it’s probably the thing they _should_ share – and that status quo continues for damn near six months before James finally cracks.

* * *

_Okay, I think we need to have a long-overdue chat_, James states flatly when he walks into Tony’s workshop.

Tony’s working on a few prototypes of helo propulsion systems for SI because Pepper had threatened to stab him in the throat with a spork of all things if he didn’t meet the third-quarter deadline, and admittedly it’s a fun little project. He likes working on engines, likes making things _fly_, and it’s always enjoyable to get elbows-deep inside of the guts of something that could revolutionise an industry, which these prototypes certainly will if he can finalise the specs within acceptable (affordable) parameters.

Still, even though he only has about ten days to finish these things and will have to put in a few all-nighters if he keeps getting distracted by other things, he pulls out of the second prototype and pushes up his magnifying goggles to give James his full attention, because there’s a pretty heavy seriousness radiating through the bond and he has a feeling that he’s going to need all hands on deck for this talk.

Because _obviously_ they’re going to be talking about Steve.

_Got it in one, darlin’_, James drawls, but there’s no playfulness in his tone, only a strong resolve.

Tony sighs, settles his nerves, and then hops up onto his table that’s next to the engine prototypes, absently pulling off his gloves and grabbing a shop rag to wipe at his oil-streaked skin, not that it helps much. His feet dangle off the edge, and James smacks at them gently with his pretty prosthetic arm Tony had installed a few weeks after his therapy had concluded. He watches as James grabs a nearby chair, tossing it around like it weighs nothing and slamming it down in front of Tony, sitting on it backwards so his thighs are splayed widely around the back.

Which is a good look for him, but whatever.

_Okay, I’m tired of all this_, James says, and both his voice and their bond feels heavy and despondent in Tony’s head. _I know it’s complicated as all fuck, and we’ve both been trying to give Steve some space, but we need to figure this shit out so we can move on with our lives before it ruins everything_.

_You’re not going to hear me disagreeing with that_, Tony admits. _I miss him too_.

There’s a slow flow of wistful longing through their bond, James not bothering to hide it now that they’re apparently having this conversation. _Me too. I just want my best friend back._

Tony’s stomach is in knots, his hands distractedly clenching and wrenching the dirty rag, as he tentatively asks, _Well, why don’t you go get him? I’ll be okay, you know, and I want you both to be happy._ It’s not even remotely a lie, either. He really does want them to be happy, and sure, it’ll ache for the rest of his life, but he genuinely wants them to get their happy ending.

James gives him an incredulous look, the same sentiment bleeding through the bond. _What the fuck are you talking about? You’re the one that’s gonna be draggin’ his fool ass home where he belongs._

That’s weird and incredibly surprising, actually, and he articulates that out loud: “I don’t understand. Steve made his choice before we even knew that we were bonded, and I seriously doubt he’s changed his mind. In any case, Steve probably thinks he lost his chance with you the second we said the words, so if you want to assure him that we’re not...well, together, you’re going to have to communicate that with him or he’ll just assume that we’re in a relationship for the rest of his life.”

James stares at him blankly, the bond curiously flat, before says in a tone that can only be described as both pleasant _and_ pissed off, “Okay, I’m gonna kill that fuckin’ punk.”

“What? I feel like I’m missing something,” Tony says, completely at a loss.

James shakes his head, bright disbelief and annoyance radiating suddenly. “Christ,” he huffs with exasperation. “When we were en-route to...” He trails off, and Tony sees barren tundra and freezing snowdrifts flickering in his head before James clears his throat and continues, “When we were en-route, me and Steve had a talk. And Tony, well...he told me point-blank that he chose you.”

Tony wants to laugh, wants to deny that insistently, because for fuck’s sake, Steve had bolted and nearly set the world on fire to get to James and that’s a hell of a way to declare a man’s intentions, but instead James sends it through the bond, a crystal clear picture that’s only a bit dark around the edges, HYDRA’s taint still evident in the memory. He watches Steve cry like he’s scraped raw and bleeding, listens to him say ‘_I love you, always have and always will, but I can’t have you both and he’s my future Buck, he’s my goddamn future, God, I’m so fucking sorry_’, feels the devastated numbness that James had felt as if it’s his own.

He sees Steve pull James into a wet, frantic, _desperate_ kiss, all tongue and teeth and moans and sobs of ‘_I love you Bucky, I love you and I’m so sorry_’.

He wrenches himself out of the memory, heart pounding and suddenly unsure as to what the fuck he’s feeling.

Even James is mystified, frowning at him visibly as the bond swirls with his curiosity and confusion. He can feel them both trying to untangle it all, a seething mass of pure emotion that is so damn overwhelming, and James asks out loud, “What—what is all this?”

“I have no idea,” Tony admits, ignoring the real world for a second so he can attempt to dissect it all.

There’s a sense of awe and euphoria, that’s for sure, because Steve had _chosen_ him when no one ever chooses him, and that’s a heady feeling, sunshine-bright and warm. There’s also hurt there too, because Steve hadn’t _told him_ before he went running off into the sunset after James, leaving carnage in his wake, and he could’ve been spared that heartache. Then there’s despair, because now _James_ is hurting and Tony _hates_ when James hurts; his soulmate is always supposed to be happy, and Tony can’t live with that, especially since it’s because of Tony himself. There’s definitely anger too, because Steve told James that he’d chosen Tony and had kissed him anyway, just prolonging James’s agony with one last kiss that reminded him of what he was losing, what he’d _had_. He also feels unbridled jealousy, and it’s even more confusing because he’s not even sure who he’s jealous _of_: James for getting that wet, consuming, filthy kiss, hands clutching and groans being swallowed by Steve’s kiss; or Steve getting that same kiss from _James_.

The most alarming, however, is the fact that in between that mass of powerful emotion, permeating every crack and crevice of it until it’s practically glowing through the bond, he feels honest-to-God _arousal_, and that’s a sick fucking thing to be feeling when James and Steve had been so obviously miserable.

“Oh,” James says, his tone strangled, and Tony frowns heavily, feeling off-kilter and unsure.

Meticulously, he starts unwinding all the thoughts behind that and tries to definitively figure it out, because Tony really does hate not understanding his own brain. He wonders if it’s just an abstract thing – two smoking hot guys making out was undeniably sexy, and Tony’s a big fan of sexy. But that doesn’t feel right, feels deeper than surface-level appreciation of two gorgeous men with their tongues down each other’s throats. Maybe he’s projecting himself on James, or even Steve? That doesn’t feel right either, though, not completely anyway, because he’s not going to lie to himself and say there isn’t an element of that.

Tony supposes he could re-evaluate the whole open relationship thing – he ignores James’s startled jolt through the bond at the thought – but he’s still not game for that idea, so it can’t be that either. He’d pondered that possibility when James had first been identified as the Winter Soldier and yeah, no, still not happening. He’s not going to share or _be_ shared in any combination on some sort of schedule, and it makes his skin crawl just thinking about it. He’d dealt with that shit with Sunset and nearly fell apart, and then he’d dealt with that shit with Tiberius, who’d had Tony’s words tattooed on his arm and had manipulated him for almost a year until he’d _literally_ fallen apart – he’d swallowed a bottle of pills with a fifth of Scotch because of that, actually, and he’d tried a few more times after that when he’d gotten low over those following few years.

_What?!_ James practically yells in Tony’s brain, pure rage and horror pulsing through the bond.

_It’s done_, Tony explains tiredly, even though he kind of wants to sick up at the memory himself. He doesn’t like thinking about those dark years, when he’d self-destructed and spent more time trying to sink into oblivion through drugs, alcohol, sex, and on occasion, a suicide attempt because he’d been unable to see a way out of the black hole of his depression. _It was a long time ago, James. I’m fine now. Medicated and everything, hurray for mental health professionals._

_I’ll kill him_, James growls.

Tony can’t help but smile. _Get in line behind Steve_, he replies with half-hearted amusement, trying to push some calm and levity through the bond so James doesn’t tear his way to wherever Tiberius is holed up these days, intent on murder or worse. It’s not very effective because James is _furious_, so Tony decides to move on, refocussing on his odd reaction to Steve and James together and hoping that it snags James’s attention from torturing his evil ex-boyfriend. Maybe it’s some sort of combination of sexy-men-making-out and self-projection, which would explain why the ideas don’t feel quite right but don’t feel quite wrong either, but it still feels off somehow, like he’s missing something vital in the equation and can’t come up with the solution because he’s not privy to all the information.

Fuck, but Tony hates when he can’t suss out his own self.

The fury in the bond dies down into something hesitant but inquisitive, though it doesn’t disappear entirely, and Tony is distracted instantly, eyes snapping back to James. He’s tapping restlessly on the back of the chair with his metal fingers, his short hair a hot mess because his flesh hand keeps running through it, and there’s a weird expression on his face that Tony supposes could be something akin to contemplative.

_Hey, can I try something? It’ll be TMI for sure, but you said you needed more information, right?_ James asks.

Tony blinks and answers flatly, his gut churning already, _You’re going to send me dirty memories, aren’t you?_

James runs his hand through his hair again. _Kinda. Fantasies, too._

Tony takes a deep breath, trying to settle his nerves and his own morbid curiosity, and says out loud, “Alright, Buckaroo, gimme.”

The first one hits Tony like an alien spaceship to the face.

_Steve’s half-naked, his old-fashioned military uniform in tatters on his body from clean, straight cuts (a knife did that, holy hot _damn_), and he’s undulating his entire body on the cot he’s spread out on, prick wedged against the bedding. James is fully dressed in his dirty military fatigues except his prick, which is obviously out of his trousers even though Tony can’t see it because his hips are pressed hard against Steve’s arse, grinding and rolling without sliding out a single inch. Steve’s a mess, flushed and glistening with sweat that’s gold in the muted lantern light on a nearby trunk, and he’s moaning desperately, his fingers clenching into the blankets hard enough to audibly tear. ‘You like that, Stevie?’ James asks, his voice rough and thick, teeth dragging down the meat of Steve’s shoulder. ‘You like when I’m fuckin’ you all slow and filthy?’_

Tony yanks himself out, breathing heavy as his heart pounds erratically in his chest. He’s flushed and definitely turned on, and the wild mess of emotion is fever-bright in his head, still so overwhelming and confusing.

“Next,” James says, sounding breathless himself, and pushes another through the bond.

_This time they’re both naked, in some hotel room or something, loud music echoing through the walls. James is riding Steve this time, their arms wrapped around necks and backs as they pant into each other’s mouths in between whines. James is grinding down onto Steve’s massive prick, his own caught in between their stomachs and barely visible, and James is gasping, ‘Oh God, Steve, God you feel so good in me, so good for me aren’t you? Fuck, your cock is splitting me open, I’m gonna feel you for days doll, make me remember how good you fuck me.’ Steve shudders helplessly, fingers digging into James’s arse, and the _sounds_ that he makes as James fucks himself on Steve’s prick is so fucking hot, so good, holy—_

Tony pulls away again, gasping himself, and his own prick is aching in his oil-stained jeans, clearly visible because James’s eyes keep darting down from Tony’s face to look at it, as if he can’t help the impulse despite having a front-row seat to Tony’s emotions. “Okay, right, so this is embarrassing and wow you’re a talker, aren’t you?” Tony manages to rasp out, so fucking confused because this shouldn’t be hot, seeing the man he loves and his goddamn soulmate fucking, and there’s still some unknown emotion rolling around in his body that he can’t explain.

“One more,” James whispers, his nerves (_strange, because James doesn’t really get nervous, Tony’s been in his soul for long enough to know that_) bright against the bond despite the deep arousal that’s also throbbing down it.

Tony looks down, sees the outline of James’s hardening prick in his own trousers, can _feel_ it in his own body, and looks back up into James’s eyes, dark-dark-dark and intense.

He nods, and James’s last one takes his breath away.

_Tony himself is being pressed against a wall hard, bodily pushed up until his legs are wrapping around Steve’s narrow waist, and he sees himself grind against Steve’s clothed stomach. Steve pushes back, strong and sensual, hands pressing Tony’s wrists against the wall hard enough that it would bruise if this was real, and this is a vision that’s happened multitudes of times in reality: Tony and Steve unable to keep their hands off each other after a meeting, the two of them trying to fuck each other so frantically that they forget they’re fully clothed._

_This time, though, James is pressed against their sides, his metal hand gripping Steve’s arse and guiding him to grind against Tony harder and _harder_ while the flesh one is buried in Tony’s hair, pulling his head to the side so he can claim Tony’s mouth in a wet, biting kiss, and Tony can see his own hand stretched down, bypassing James’s waistband and fondling his prick beneath his combat trousers. Steve buries himself into Tony’s neck, teeth grazing Tony’s skin and sucking deep bruises, and fuck-fuck-_fuck_ all three of them working in unison, pushing and pulling and consuming each other equally, _together_, oh my fucking _God_, this is—_

Tony jerks out of the fantasy, hastily putting his hands on the table so he can brace himself, and gasps for air, flushed and dazed and helplessly turned on. He feels like he’s going to burn out of his skin because he’d thought about an open relationship before, Steve flitting between James and Tony in two distinctly separate connections, but _this_ is something that he hadn’t even thought to consider. He still doesn’t know exactly James is implying – a fucking _triad_ or the occasional threesome when Tony and Steve would want him to join in or what – but _God_, the idea of having them both, _together_, equals regardless of chemistry or biology or bonds, is intoxicating, and honestly the idea of a threesome is hot too, even though he thinks it would kill him to taste James and not have him completely.

And James says quietly, _Steve loves you Tony, and I love you just as much. And Steve and I love each other too, that’s more than confirmed at this point. If—if you could...maybe learn to love me too, that would be...well. I think it would work, that all of us could make it work and be happy._

“Oh my God,” Tony croaks out. “You want us both. All of us. Together.”

“Yes,” James says out loud, firm and resolute.

Hysterical giggles rip out of Tony’s throat, echoing in the wide expanse of his workshop, because he _gets_ the strange emotion he’d felt when watching Steve and James together: it had been jealousy, yes, but only because he _hadn’t been there with them_. And fuck, but he _does_ want that, wants them both in his bed and in his heart and in his life, all of them, all three of them, all at once; furthermore, he can feel the earnest desire in James too, like liquid sunlight through the bond, flooded with hope and need. There’s no hiding that James wants this, and now that Tony has the idea in his head, he wants it too. He wants it so fucking much he can almost taste it. He can have both of the men he loves, and they can have him equally, and yes-yes-yes he wants that more than anything because it’s _perfect_.

Then a flicker of doubt tugs at him and he says, “Steve might not want this, you know, especially since we’re soulmates. I wouldn’t exactly blame him for it – I don’t know if I’d be able to do it in his position, always wondering why I was there and if I measured up to a soulbond. Plus there’s always the possibility that Steve’ll find _his_ soulmate, you know?”

James stands up, shamelessly adjusting himself in his jeans and looking so unconcerned with Tony’s point that Tony’d be offended if he wasn’t so tentatively hopeful that James can argue the point convincingly. James doesn’t disappoint: “Trust me, he’ll jump on this before we can even finish propositioning him, I swear on my ma’s grave. As for the other bits, well, we’ll just have to use our collective knowledge of Steven Rogers’ dumbass brain to make sure he’s fully aware that we’re all in this. Gotta communicate, right? I’m actually good at that shit, if I do say so myself, and I’ll bully you until you learn too, if not do the talkin’ myself.”

There’s a hint of unease through the bond then, and James says slowly, “I don’t know what we’d do if he found his soulmate. Maybe he’d remain close friends with his soulmate and keep us all together, or maybe we’d have a clean break and separate into two separate couples or hell, maybe we’d just add a fourth, I don’t know. I’m not a fortune teller on the docks and for all I know, one of us could get hit by a bus tomorrow and make this entire conversation moot point. What I will say is that I don’t really think that’s our place to decide, and I also don’t think we need to really worry about it. We’ll deal with it if it happens, and no use thinkin’ about it until it does. We’ve got more important shit to worry about than some hypothetical what-if.”

“Clearly you don’t know me at all,” Tony tries to joke, even though it’s not really a joke at all.

James rolls his eyes and walks around the chair, stepping up towards Tony and nudging his legs further apart with his hands. He pushes himself in between them as he yanks Tony closer to him on the table, and Tony’s eyes flutter closed with a surge of pleasure when his trapped, half-hard prick is pressed against James’s stomach, their torsos plastered against each other. He feels James’s fingers in his hair and Tony can’t help but reach out himself, adjusting his weight so he can press his palms against James’s chest, feeling his heartbeat through his skin just as easily as he can feel it through the bond.

The bond itself is wide open, James gently prodding until Tony realises what he’s searching for, and he lets James have it, unable to keep himself from smiling as he hears Steve say in the memory, ‘_We don’t need shared words, we don’t need a bond, just like I didn’t need any of those things with Bucky, and I don’t care if it somehow goes bad._’

James smiles and says in an echo of Steve’s final words, “He loves you, Tony. He loves you just as much as he loves me and he don’t need some damn soulbond to prove that.”

“But what if he says no?” Tony can’t help but ask again quietly, pressing his face against James’s neck and inhaling the scent of him, gunmetal and soap and salt.

“He won’t,” James says confidently.

Tony takes a deep breath, musters his courage, and says, “Alright. Let’s do it.”

The bright flare of excitement and delight makes him laugh, and James pulls away, holding him out arms-length and staring at him for a long moment. God, Tony can feel the love and affection through the bond, not hidden anymore, and Tony lets his own hidden secrets out too, delighting in James’s awed expression when equal love and affection from his own soul slides through the bond.

“Well I’ll be damned,” James breathes with a whistle, suddenly grinning widely. “Let’s find Steve so I can finally get my mouth all over you.”

Tony’s prick pulses with arousal, and he scrambles to obey.

* * *

James is shamelessly looking through the bond as he rides the lift to Steve’s flat.

It’s a tad bit distracting but Tony’s focussed regardless, knocking on Steve’s door after a beat of nervous trepidation. Still, they’re here and he’s not going to chicken out now, especially since James is flooding the bond with patient encouragement around the heady anticipation. The bond widens, James slipping into Tony’s senses to listen, and Tony realises that he can hear Steve moving around inside, clear as day in a way that Tony’s ears haven’t worked since he was ten.

_Is that you?_ Tony asks curiously.

_Nah,_ James says, adjusting his weight without unsettling the box of doughnuts in one hand and the cardboard holder that the coffees are balanced in. _I’m pretty sure soulbonds don’t give you super-soldier abilities. If they did, you’d know it ‘cos you’d be breaking shit all the time like me and Steve did, trying to figure out how to adjust to all the changes. I’m just more focussed than you are since your brain bounces all over the place, so I’m just filtering out all of the white noise._

Makes sense, but Tony wants to do some science regardless, figure out how deep that goes. He hears James huff out a laugh in the back of his head, but Steve opens the door and Tony forgets everything except Steve.

His first thought is that Steve’s still taking care of himself, which is a relief – the super-soldier constitution is durable but can be stretched thin without proper fuel and rest, and Tony knows from personal experience that Steve tends to forget food and sleep when he’s really low, same as Tony does. Steve is healthy though, looking well-rested and strong as always, and desperate arousal and need swirls through him because _God_ he wants to move forward and burrow his way inside Steve’s body until there’s no separation between them.

He can feel James echoing that sentiment through the bond.

“Tony?” Steve asks, his voice and body language carefully modulated as to give the illusion that he’s unruffled and calm, even though Tony damn well knows better. He knows Steve better than just about anyone else on the planet, and he can see the tension, worry, and underlying longing in that handsome face. “Is something wrong? I didn’t get a notification that something was happening.”

Tony swallows thickly, trying to quell the impulse to pounce, and looks down the bond to see where James is at. When he notes that James is nearly there, the lift slowing, he asks, “Can we come in?”

“We?” Steve questions, and then the lift a few doors away opens, displaying James.

“Hey Stevie,” James calls out with a grin, stepping out of the lift and practically strutting his way to stand behind Tony. “We got coffee and doughnuts and a question to ask you, though I’m tempted to kick your ass first.”

“Behave,” Tony drawls, then wiggles his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve looks back and forth between them, pain and longing and resignation clear despite his attempt to mask it, and then sighs. “My door is always open to both of you,” he says.

They walk in and Tony takes a glance around the place, absently taking in the space as James bulldozes his way to the sitting room. It’s nice as hell, but not really Steve’s usual style – it looks more like Tony’s penthouse at Stark Tower than it does his previous Brooklyn flat actually, all clean lines and open-concept rather than old brickwork and closed-off rooms. Tony likes it though, likes how airy and light it is, perfect for art in the afternoons and luxurious lounging with a glass of wine at night.

“Alright, dumbass, we’re gonna jump straight into it,” James says cheerfully, not even a hint of nervousness echoing through the bond. Tony vaguely wonders if he’s hiding it or if he really just _doesn’t_ feel nervous about the proposition. Tony wishes he had that sort of self-confidence. James throws himself onto a large armchair, legs spread enticingly – Tony sees Steve look him down through James’s eyes, helplessly drawn to the sight, before he visibly forces himself to look away, jaw clenched – and grabs his latte, saying, “Why didn’t you tell Tony that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him?”

Tony focusses back on the two men, watching Steve’s eyes flicker towards Tony once before he’s sitting heavily onto a sofa, clearly resigning himself to this conversation as he buries his head in his hands. Muffled, he replies, “You’re _soulmates_, Bucky. You’re meant to be together and I’m not the kind of man who is going to get in the way of your happiness.”

“I haven’t even touched him,” James says flatly.

Steve jerks and looks up, his expression twisting with incredulity until it morphs into outrage. “Excuse me?” he nearly shouts, a flush of horror spreading along his cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’ve been—that you’ve been keeping yourself from your soulmate because of _me_!”

“Oh, I wanna touch him, don’t get me wrong,” James says, a sly smirk quirking his lips, and Tony almost wants to laugh. He’s such a troll and God, but Tony loves him. “But the problem is that we both don’t feel like it’s quite right without you being there with us.”

The colour drains out of Steve’s face as fast as it had popped up, and Tony can’t help but snort with amusement at the wide-eyed expression on Steve’s face. If Steve was a computer programme, he’d probably be a blue screen stating ‘Steve Rogers.exe Does Not Compute’.

At the sound of his laugh, Steve’s head snaps to Tony, mouth working around words before he croaks out, “I don’t understand.”

James’s grin is wicked now and Tony can tell through the bond that James is enjoying himself, both because he likes one-upping Steve and because he’s still a little upset that Steve hadn’t said anything. _Behave_, Tony tells him again, shooting a glare at his soulmate, and James just shrugs, smile sharp. Still, he does send a pulse of apologetic acquiescence to Tony and says out loud, “We both love Tony. We both love you. And you love both of us. I don’t see a problem here.”

Steve still looks like he’s going to keel over, but there’s a glimmer of something that Tony thinks is hope starting to glint in his wide eyes. “I don’t understand,” he repeats, then shakes his head with a frown. “Tony...doesn’t do open relationships.”

“Remind me to kill that sonofabitch later,” James growls under his breath.

“Get in line,” Steve snaps immediately.

Tony bursts out laughing, slightly hysterical from nerves and hilarity, and stumbles towards Steve, falling sideways on the couch. He’s close enough to touch but he refrains, pulling himself together as best he can, reaching for some sort of calm. James helps, which is nice, and soon enough he’s breathing steady, though his heart is pounding in his chest so fast he’s terrified it’s going to fail.

“Steve,” he says, voice strangled from nerves and lingering mirth. “We’re talking a triad here.”

“You know, where we’re all in a relationship together, instead of sharing Tony or something,” James chimes in, voice silky and low. “Think about it Stevie: we can all go out to dinner and talk about how much we love each other, then go home and cuddle in a big heap on that big bed of his until we’re all so hard we can’t keep our hands off each other. I’ll watch you fuck him while my dick’s stuffed down his greedy throat and—”

“Yes,” Steve gasps.

“Told you,” James says smugly, arousal and need and excitement pulsing through their bond.

“Please tell me you’re not joking,” Steve all but begs, his entire body shaking. His eyes are wild and dark, staring at Tony, and _fuck_ Tony’s hard as a rock in his jeans, watching Steve fall apart just at the idea of _together_.

Tony finally decides that it’s his turn to speak openly. Slowly, he reaches out to touch Steve’s wrist, fingers caressing the warm skin, and says through the persistent nerves and need, “You told me once that you didn’t care about bonds because you loved me regardless of it, and I know you feel the same way about him. I...” He trails off, swallowing thickly, and then croaks out, “We can come up with boundaries or rules if you want, if that’ll help you feel more secure, but we want to try because neither one of us can live without you.”

Steve’s eyes clench shut tightly, moisture darkening his eyelashes, and James stands up, walking over until he can settle at Steve’s side, hands smoothing down his arm until their fingers are linked. With a subtle nudge of direction through the bond, Tony scoots closer as well, linking his fingers with Steve’s and pressing his body against Steve as closely as he can manage, his head falling to rest on Steve’s shoulder.

“We love you,” James says quietly, pressing a kiss against Steve’s neck that radiates through Tony’s lips like an electric shock. He murmurs against Steve’s skin, “It’ll be great, just you wait and see. You both get me, and I get both of you, he gets both of us, and we all get each other. It’s perfect.”

Then there’s a deep surge of arousal through the bond that makes Tony moan in the back of his throat, and he can’t help the urge to follow James’s every move, shuffling to gain some height so he can bury his face in the other side of Steve’s neck, dragging his lips and teeth against warm, familiar skin. Steve groans, his head falling back to the sofa and giving them both room to work, and he’s shuddering so hard that he’s almost vibrating, breaths sharp and loud in the open room.

“Just think about it, Stevie,” James husks out, his flesh hand falling on Steve’s thigh and massaging the muscle, slowly working his way upwards. Tony echoes it immediately on Steve’s other leg, lost in the feeling of Steve against his lips and palm, lost in the feeling of James doing the same thing, vibrant through their bond. “Even when one of us is out, we’ll all still be together. You could touch him and love him and fuck him until he’s _screaming_ and I could be halfway across the world, still feeling both of you love me so much because you’re both _mine_, and you’ll always be inside me no matter where I go. I wanna feel you stuff your cock inside him hard, making him _take_ you, and I’ll be sobbing from it just as much as he will because I’ll feel you wherever I am. We’ll both feel you take us, _love_ us, fucking us until we _reek_ of you, your spunk dripping down our thighs like a claim. You’ll fuck us so good, won’t you Stevie? You gonna show us how much you love us?”

“_Yes_,” Steve moans, thick and loud and wrecked.

“Prove it,” James whispers into his ear, and Steve does.

* * *

After, Tony curls into Steve’s chest, James’s naked body pressed against his back.

He absently traces Steve’s words with a single finger as he’s done a thousand times and asks quietly, “Does it bother you? That we’re bonded and your soulmate is still out there?”

Steve hums under his breath, low and easy, his entire body lax in the aftermath of their rather spectacular fuck, and replies slowly, “I’m not sure. It’s complicated.”

James stretches his arm out, his fingers leaving Tony’s waist so they can stroke down Steve’s hip in a silent comfort. He presses a gentle, thrilling kiss against the back of Tony’s neck, then murmurs against Tony’s damp skin, “Whatever you need, Steve. We want you happy and secure with us.”

Steve rumbles out a soft laugh, Steve’s chest pleasantly vibrating under Tony’s cheek. Tony gives the skin a soft kiss, brushing along the edge of his nipple, and Steve hums again, thicker this time with arousal. He can feel Steve’s half-hard prick twitch against his thigh – damn super-soldier refractory periods, and he’s glad that James will be there to fuck him blind even after Tony’s spent and only able to watch – before he says, “I know. I’m not concerned about finding my soulmate. We’ll cross that bridge if we ever come to it.”

“That’s what he said,” Tony mumbles.

“I know how to read this punk like a book, asshole; I’m certified and everything,” James says fondly.

Steve snorts this time, loud and amused, and then he sighs. “All those things you said, about you both being able to feel me with you even if we’re not together? Hell, I got that loud and clear over the last hour and I know that’s true. Everything I do to one of you, the other will feel it if they want to, and that is...well, that’s really swell. It’s _more_ than swell, really. It’s beautiful.”

“But you won’t feel if me and Tony fool around by ourselves,” James says knowingly.

“Right,” Steve says. “I don’t know how I feel about that yet, if I’m honest. I don’t want to get in the way of you two being intimate with each other, because you _should_ have that opportunity, have a little one-on-one time if you will. I just think it’ll take time for me to get used to the fact that I’m the odd man out here, even with a lot of assurances that I’m not. I still am though; you’re soulmates, and I’m...”

“Still ours,” James grumbles petulantly, the bond echoing the same sentiment.

“It’s a valid concern,” Tony says patiently, shooting a thread of admonishment back. James huffs against his neck, but the bond steadies into the half-sated, half-aroused flow from before. When they’re all settled, Tony admits, “Honestly, I’m not really comfortable with any of us being alone at all right now anyway, regardless of combination. I’d really prefer not to...do that right now, at least until I’ve had some time to get used to this myself.”

“I agree,” Steve says, sounding relieved.

James grumbles, but there isn’t any heat in it, nor in the bond itself. “Alright,” James says, his tone sullen before suddenly the bond goes sharp with delight. “I guess you’ll just have to move back to the compound so we can have dirty sex marathons with each other when we’re not kicking ass. I plan on regulating Tony’s sleeping patterns by fucking him senseless at every available opportunity and I’d appreciate the assist, Stevie.”

Tony rolls his eyes with exasperated amusement while Steve complains good-naturedly, “I’ve been trying to do that for years to no success, and trust me, I have _tried_.”

“Clearly not hard enough,” James drawls.

“There are these things called deadlines that I have to meet if I don’t want to face Pepper’s wrath,” Tony says. “Besides, if I don’t have my workshop binges, I’d probably start acting out in sheer boredom.”

“Acting out’s fun – you can act out with us all you like,” James quips, grinning against Tony’s neck. The hand stroking Steve’s hip curves inwards until he’s wedging it in underneath Tony’s thigh, gripping Steve’s prick with his metal fingers. Steve moans, hips rolling up into it, and Tony shivers against them both, his limp prick twitching in a valiant, but futile attempt to get hard. Instead, he manoeuvres his body until he can bring James’s prick in between his own thighs, slick from lube and the come still leaking out of his body, and he squeezes his legs together as he threads his fingers with James’s metal ones. They pull at Steve’s prick in unison as James rocks his hips between Tony’s thighs, brushing his sensitive balls with every stroke, and Tony wishes that he had their refractory periods because _damn_ they’re both insatiable. He’d been taken apart by both of them, Steve fucking him soft and passionate until he’d spent himself in Tony’s body, and then James had taken him _hard_, and through it all he’d given a filthy running commentary about how Tony’d felt, how hot he’d been and how desperately he’d wanted them both to use him. Tony’s fairly certain he’s never come so hard in his life, hand gripping Steve’s so hard it might’ve broken if Steve hadn’t been enhanced, and had sobbed out a moan into Steve’s mouth when he’d orgasmed, just about shattering apart from the force of it.

This is a slow glide though, bodies working and breaths mingling, enjoying themselves leisurely while they wait for Tony’s body to catch up. By the time Tony’s mostly hard again, his two lovers have already come once more and are still raring to go, guiding Tony to his hands and knees so James can fuck into his wet and well-used hole so hard that Tony’s entire body jerks from the force of it. The flesh fingers of his right hand are threaded in Tony’s hair, using his grip to force Tony’s throat down on Steve’s girthy prick, while the metal fingers fondle Tony easily.

Tony wishes he had the super-soldier refractory period _and_ the ability to multitask on a frankly preternatural level, actually.

Everything is over-bright with the lack of oxygen and need, entire body thrumming from the harsh treatment, and _fuck_ he loves this, loves this so goddamn much it’s almost painful. The bond is bright with desire and satisfaction and a deep need, James and Tony feeding into each other deliriously, and he can’t hardly think past it all, overwhelmed in every possible way by the two men he loves more than life. He holds onto Steve’s hands for dear life, choking himself on his prick as filthy as he can, and revels in Steve’s vocal, enthusiastic pleasure wholeheartedly, letting James speak for him as he praises Steve and goads him into fucking Tony’s throat harder.

He’s not even fully hard when he falls over the edge, the pleasure blinding and damn near painful, and he convulses around both of them, garbling out a moan of fevered approval when he feels James’s release through the bond, the sensation doubling with Tony’s own orgasm until Tony’s nearly unconscious from the overwhelming force of it. Steve pulls out of Tony’s mouth, his hand threading with James’s own in Tony’s hair, and he can vaguely hear the slick sounds of Steve jerking himself off before spunk is spurting all over his face, Steve groaning out a thick “_Oh God_” as he marks Tony until he reeks of it.

This time, Tony collapses on Steve’s lap and slips into a blissful, peaceful darkness, content and sated and so in love.

* * *

Tony’s world breaks into pieces the moment he learns the identity of the Winter Soldier.

The proverbial hammer shatters him entirely when the words are spoken.

But inevitably, Tony rebuilds, and it is a strong, stable, bright future that he forges, with the two men he loves at his side, inside his soul and out.


End file.
